Siri has worked her way through the temple of Ilshara until the goddess tapped her as the Emissary. With her life now revolving around worshipers and organizing the temple she has no time for herself and with the great festival coming up, she needs some me time. She asks the goddess for some time off and is shocked to her toes when it is granted. Life on Allacor is calm, serene and has a slow rhythm that Siri enjoys as she spends her days in baggy clothing that are completely different from her Emissary clothing. While the goddess lets Siri's biology come back to its rhythm, Mirkan, the next clan leader of the Sorro clan is there to seduce her into an attachment to his world. Time passes swiftly and when the representatives from her home world find her she is caught and her disguise stripped bare. When the goddess inside comes out to put her foot down, she surprises her Emissary with a plan for this new world. A plan that includes Siri.
Mirkan looked out his window and tried not to think about the off-worlder a few rooms away. Her eyes as she had played the lute were soft and burnished gold, a hard contrast to her face when she had stopped Rohn from touching her. The clothing she wore concealed a well-muscled body he was sure. No fainting flower could have hauled herself into the seat of the reaper that easily.
If he hadn't been worried about repercussions, he would have dismounted to pound the young idiot into the ground.
His father did not approve of his interested in Siri, but he couldn't help it. He wanted her and nothing that his mind told him was having an effect on that desire.
As he watched the expansive green out the window, he noticed a flicker of light. His attention focused and the shape of a woman coalesced in light. Her clothing, if he could even call it that, was a series of thin, silky drapes that did nothing to hide her curves.
His erection didn't surprise him. The feeling of recognition did. In his deepest dreams from the previous night, Siri had looked just like this. The heavy pounding in his groin took on an unavoidable beat when the woman with the spill of tousled hair started to dance in the light of the moon.
His grip on the windowsill exchanged itself for a grip on his cock and as the woman writhed and twisted for his eyes alone, he stroked himself until his eyes lost their focus and he stifled a shout, spewing his seed in a jet. When he opened his eyes again, the woman was gone and he had a mess to clean up.
